


Camping with Mila

by wheel_pen



Series: Venkii [5]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon, Travis, Trip, and Mila go camping. Hijinks ensue. This story is unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Camping with Mila

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The Venkii are humans who left Earth long ago, and have a few extra enhancements by now. Mila is a young Venkii woman who has joined the crew of the Enterprise, in Engineering. She can communicate with the ship in a special way.
> 
> 2\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

"You're not lookin', are ya?"

"No." Pause. "Are you?"

"No!" Okay, so a glance out of the corner of his eye didn't count as 'looking,' right? Because he was just doing that to make sure that _she_ wasn't looking. It's not like he could actually _see_ anything.

Not that there was anything _to_ see, really. Trip added his t-shirt to the pile that contained, from the ground up, his hiking boots, socks, and pullover. He caught a flash of movement as he was checking, again, to see that _she_ wasn't looking.

"Hey! Were you lookin'?" he demanded.

"No!"

"Looked like you were lookin' to me."

"I was just looking to make sure that _you_ weren't looking."

"Well," Trip sputtered indignantly, "that counts as looking."

"Then you're guilty too," she judged decisively.

"Well how do you _know_ I was lookin', if _you_ weren't lookin'?" Get outta _that_ one.

"I already _said_ I was looking to make sure _you_ weren't looking," she repeated. "And in doing so, I caught you looking."

Trip's mind swirled in confusion. "Well if you were lookin' and you caught _me_ lookin', why didn't you say anything right then?" he pounced back. "Why'd you wait until _I_ caught _you_ lookin'?"

Mila refused to give in. "I was trying to be the better party, and give you the benefit of the doubt."

Trip snorted. "Oh, that's _real_ generous of you." His hands lingered at the waist of his jeans. What if he took _his_ off, but she hadn't taken _hers_ off?

"I figured, if _I_ were looking to make sure that _you_ weren't looking, you may have been looking to make sure that _I_ wasn't looking," Mila attempted to clarify.

"What have you taken off so far?" he finally insisted, annoyed and slightly confused.

"I took off my boots, and my socks, and my jacket."

H—l of a striptease that was. "That's it?"

"I am contemplating taking off my shirt."

"I already took mine off," he pointed out mischievously. "We should be even."

"If we aren't looking, what's the point of being even?"

"It's the principle of the thing."

Pause. "Fine. I have now removed my shirt."

"How do I know you're not just sayin' that?" Trip suggested. Something soft smacked against his bare back. He started to turn to see what it was when she admonished him.

"Don't turn around!"

"You—you threw something at me! I want to see what it was!"

"It was my shirt! You wanted proof I'd taken it off."

"Well I can't _see_ that it's your shirt unless I look at it, can I?" Inescapable logic.

"Why don't you just take a step backwards then see what you've stepped over?"

He did so, grudgingly. "Oh. It _is_ your shirt."

"Thank you."

He thought of something. "Hey! Did you turn around to throw it at me?"

Exasperated sigh. "No. Anyway, what do you care if I did? You still have your pants on."

"Oh, and how did you know I have my pants on, if you didn't turn around and _look_?"

"It's the only logical remaining item of clothing. Unless you're some kind of _freak_ who takes his pants off over his boots."

"Now don't gimme that 'logic' stuff. I get enough of that from T'Pol."

"Does T'Pol ever call you a 'freak' in addition?"

He tried to smother a chuckle. "No, not in my hearing anyway."

"Well, that's just one more service we provide."

Well, he really didn't need to be thinking about the services she might provide. "I hope that water's cold," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

"That's it," she finally decided. "I feel grimy and nasty and I'm not standing here another minute. I'm taking off my pants."

"Well, fine, I'm taking off mine."

"Put your back to the river. I'm getting in."

"Okay, okay, hang on a second." He was hopping around on one foot, trying to get his pant leg uncaught.

"How hard is taking off a pair of pants?!" she demanded.

"Okay, they're off! I'm turnin' my back."

"Good. I am getting into the water now... Oh my G-d!"

He almost turned around. "What? Mila?"

"It's _FREEZING_!"

Oh good. "The current's not too swift, is it? Say, do you even know how to swim?"

"Of-of c-course I kn-know how to sw-swim," she chattered. "We-we have p-pools, you kn-know!"

"How deep is it?"

"M-mid-thigh."

"So, up to my ankles, then?"

"You-you're f-funny. G-get in th-this w-water, t-tough guy."

"Okay. I'm gonna get in. Keep your back to the bank."

"Wait! Let me g-get d-down more..."

"You know, if it's too cold..."

"N-no, I'm g-getting used to it... Okay. You can g-get in."

Trip slipped into the knee-deep water. "Oh my G-d! It's freezing!"

"That's what I told you!"

He continued making noises of discomfort.

"Stop being a baby! Just get down into it! You'll get used to it!"

"H-how d-do y-you kn-know I'm n-not d-down in it?" he shivered. "Are y-you l‑looking?" Pause. "Oh my G-d! This is cold..."

"Oh, but I feel _so_ much cleaner already!"

They were quiet for a few minutes. Trip snuck a couple glances back and saw Mila submerged up to her neck in the quiet stream, just as he was. Well, she was right, he had to admit, he _was_ starting to feel cleaner—

A shriek from behind him. Immediately he planted his feet on the streambed and turned around. "Mila?" She jumped him. Well, not _jumped_ him; jumped _on_ him, jumped _up_ him, nearly toppling Trip over in an attempt to get out of the water.

"Mila! What the h—l?!" he demanded.

"There's something in the water!" she screamed. She had somehow hitched herself onto his back, arms round his neck, legs around his waist.

"What? What's in the water?" He was staring hard at the slow-moving, crystal clear waterway, seeing nothing. The warmth of her skin on his was an... interesting contrast to the chilliness of her wet skivvies.

"There! There's one!" She pointed desperately at the water and again Trip almost lost his balance. Struggling to stay upright, he squinting down under the rippling water and saw...

"That's a _catfish_!"

"A what?"

"Well, obviously not a _real_ catfish, because those are only on Earth, but..." The fish was about a foot long with a few fleshy whiskers, so that was close enough for him.

"Is it dangerous?"

He tried to look back over his shoulder and glare at her. "No, it's not _dangerous_. Well, a real catfish isn't, and you heard T'Pol, there aren't any dangerous animals out here. I mean, it's just a fish."

"We had fish on our ship. They did _not_ look like that."

"Oh no?"

"They were pretty. Colorful. _Small_."

He rolled his eyes. "You're freakin' out over a fish," he informed her shortly. "Now, you gonna get back in the water or what?"

He could feel her glare. "Fine." Pause. "Move your arms." He had inadvertently been supporting her legs with his arms, and he lifted them a little so she could drop back down with a splash behind him. "I'm getting back in the water."

"Fine. And just for the record," he shot, settling back into the chilly stream, " _you_ got to look, but _I_ didn't. Because _I_ am a gentleman."

"Well, I'm _not_ a gentleman," Mila pointed out, unnecessarily. "And I wasn't looking, I was too busy—"

"Climbin' on me," Trip reminded her. "Because you were scared of a little ol' fish." She harrumphed. "You know, next time you think there's something deadly in the water, it might be a good idea to climb _out_ onto the bank, instead of _on_ someone _else_ who's in the water."

"Shut up."

"I'm just sayin', as a little survival tip." Pause. "Unless of course, you _wanted_ to climb on me."

"May I remind you, _Commander_ , that you are downstream from me? So if I were to, say, _vomit_ —"

"Ugh! I get your point. Geez." Pause. "Hey, the Cap'n said no ranks on this vacation."

"The _Captain_ said that?"

He rolled his eyes. For several minutes they just floated in the water, in blissful silence. Then—"Um, Trip?"

"Yes?"

"Could you grab that, please?"

"Grab wh—" Oh. A standard-issue blue Starfleet athletic bra almost sailed past him, but he managed to catch it. Carefully bobbing backwards, he reached his hand out blindly in her general direction. "Here."

"Thank you." Pause. "I decided I would wash it out."

"No, that's a good idea. Might as well."

"Yes, well... Since we're going to be wearing cold, wet underwear anyway, I thought—"

"Could at least be clean, cold, wet underwear. I see your point."

Several more minutes. "I wish I had some shampoo or something."

"I would settle for warm water," he decided. "I am gonna have a _nice_ , _long_ , _hot_ shower when I get back to _Enterprise_ , that's for d—n sure."

Two more minutes. "I want to get out now."

"Well, what's stoppin' ya?"

"How are we going to do that?"

"Oh. Without lookin', you mean?"

"Yes."

Trip thought that over. "Why don't you get out, and just keep your back to me, and then I'll get out, and keep my back to _you_?"

"Well, that seems reasonable," she agreed. "But are we just going to stand there, dripping wet, in our underwear, with our backs to each other, until we dry off enough to get dressed?"

Well, that was a good point. "Well... wouldn't make much sense to dry off with our _other_ clothes, since they're dirty..."

"No." Pause. "We could _sit_ with our backs to each other, as we waited to dry off."

Trip sighed. "Sure, sounds good to me."

A few minutes later. "Quit squirmin'."

" _You_ quit squirming."

"I am not the one who _started_ squirming! Ergo, I should not have to be the one to _stop_!"

"I'm cold!"

"You're squirmin' 'cause you're cold?"

"No! I was merely trying to start a new topic of conversation."

"How many variations can we do about the fact that you're cold? What the h—l kind of conversation is that?"

"Well, you could say _you_ were cold," she pointed out.

"Well, I am," he admitted. "Sun's nice and warm, though." And it felt kind of nice, sitting on the bank of a stream in the sunshine, leaning against her back. Even if she _was_ squirming.

A few minutes later. "I'm not getting any warmer. And I'm not getting any drier."

Trip rolled his eyes. "You are worse than my cousin Annabelle, you know that?" he accused, giving the smallest glance over his shoulder. "Biggest whiner I ever met." Mila huffed in indignation. "Water was always too cold, sun always too hot, lemonade always too sour, cookies always too sweet..."

"Well now that's just stupid," Mila countered tartly. "How can a cookie be too sweet?"

"Well that's what I said," Trip assured her. "I mean, if it's not sweet, it's not a cookie, is it?"

"It's like a... flat muffin or something."

"Exactly." The thought of childhood summers spent annoying his cousin brought back other memories. "Me and my sister used to go swimming in this pond behind my grandparents' house. Stretch out on our backs in the grass under the sun to dry off."

"On the grass?" Mila repeated dubiously.

"Well we are already _sitting_ on the grass," Trip pointed out indignantly. "What's the difference in _laying_ on it?" No response. "I'll keep my eyes closed, if that's what you're worried about."

"Actually," Mila replied acidly, "as terrifying as your gaze would be, I am more worried about insects, and other creatures."

"Have you even _seen_ an insect out here?" Trip challenged, half turned around now.

"Stop looking!" she ordered sharply and he whipped back automatically.

"There's hardly any insect life on this part of the continent," he reminded her sullenly. "Just catfish, apparently, and those d—n squawkin' birds."

"I like birds," Mila said thoughtfully, after a moment, and Trip just _knew_ she'd done it to irritate him.

"Well _I_ am gonna lay down," he finally announced, pulling away from her and turning to face the river.

"You'd better have your eyes closed," she threatened.

"I do," he assured her in a long-suffering tone. "You better, too!"

"I do." She sounded petulant and he smiled a little, smugly.

Trip stretched out on the grass, raising his arms over his head and delighting in the feeling of the warm earth under his back. He hadn't done anything like this since... well, since high school at least. He'd been on a few beaches in his day, of course, but sand was a totally different feeling than grass, somehow both warm and cool at the same time. A rustle and a shadow next to him told him Mila was finally giving in and lying down as well.

For a while he was able to bask in the sun quietly. Then came the inevitable. "The ground is lumpy."

Silence.

"The grass is prickly."

Silence.

"How long have we been out here? I was reading about sunburns—"

"Would you just shut the h—l up?" Trip finally snapped. "G-d. You've got a _fabulous_ knack for ruining an otherwise perfect situation."

There was no response, and Trip's smug triumph began to fade as he wondered if perhaps his tone had been too mean. Well, she deserved it, he told himself. It was _her_ fault, after all—somehow—that the two of _them_ were trapped together hiking, while Jon and Travis were taking the other path. So much for spending some shore leave with his old friend, instead he had to babysit—

Mila made a noise of frustration and sat up, Trip deduced. "This is awful. I don't see how you can lay on that," she complained angrily. "I've got—maybe I'm allergic to this d—n grass—"

"What the h—l?" Trip exclaimed, sitting up as he finally opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of Mila's back, which was rapidly turning bright red and covered in welts. "Stop scratchin' them," he ordered, climbing to his knees to get a better look.

"They itch!"

Trip looked at her back, then looked at the grass where she had been lying. "G-d," he finally sighed, "you don't have the sense God gave a baboon, do you?"

"What?!"

Trip scrambled over to his backpack, rifling through it for the medkit Phlox had given him before they set off. There was some kind of smelly ointment in there for just such occasions.

"What are you doing?" Mila demanded as he knelt behind her, first brushing his hands across her back.

"Even a baboon would know better than to lay down on an _anthill_ ," he assured her, and she twisted to see the small pile of dirt surrounded by grass.

"There's _ants_ on me?!"

"Now don't panic, I got 'em off," he told her, starting to rub the ointment on her, "but they must have bitten you somethin' good. You didn't feel that?"

Her shoulders were tense with anger. "I thought it was the grass. I don't usually lie around on the _ground_ , after all." She paused. " _You_ said there weren't any insects," she added accusingly.

"Don't go tryin' to blame me for this," he snapped, slathering the pungent salve across her reddened skin. "You got a direct hotline to the computer database, the _least_ you coulda done was read up on the outdoors and precautions to take."

She craned her neck to glare at him. "I am _not_ accustomed to—"

"Well you had d—n well better _get_ accustomed," he retorted. "You're not on that ugly ship of yours anymore, darlin'. You're gonna have to work with us stupid men, and go outdoors, and take self-defense lessons, and all the other things you're just 'not accustomed to,' 'cause that's the way us 'Earth-borns' do it." He covered the last bit of skin in ointment with an exasperated smack.

Mila was quiet for a long moment as Trip sighed and felt his irritation start to dissipate. "It's not an ugly ship," she finally countered, quietly, her voice thick, and then he really felt like a a-s.

"I guess it's... not," he allowed, though the admission was painful. "If that's what you're used to."

" _Enterprise_ is tiny, and awkward, in comparison," she added and Trip narrowed his eyes again.

"Hey now, let's not get _mean_ ," he insisted. "All I meant was—" He paused as a curious sensation overtook him.

"Oh?" Mila prompted. "And what exactly did you mean?"

Trip was starting to squirm, trying to get his arms behind his back to rub but not scratch. "Um—"

Finally she looked back at him. "What are you doing?"

"I think—maybe—" He finally just presented his back to her.

"What were you saying about _baboons_?" she commented acidly, looking at the welts rising on his back. "Oh, look," she went on, voice dripping with sarcasm, "little ants running to and fro, terrified by the monstrous being who has tried to crush their home."

"Would you just put that gel on me, please?" he shot back impatiently. Those bites really itched like the devil.

"Fine," she agreed airily. "But I think we'll have no more remarks about my lack of familiarity with the outdoors, will we?" Her tone was just slightly menacing.

Trip gritted his teeth, burning with the desire to scratch his back. "Just because it happened to me, too, doesn't mean you're suddenly qualified for a Scout badge," he growled, refusing to give in.

"Well, I have no idea what you're talking about," Mila replied, "but it didn't sound very pleasant to me, so I guess you can just apply this yourself." And with that she stood and started to walk over to her pile of clothes.

"Mila!" She was already yanking her pants back on, grimacing at the dirt and stiffness. Glaring death at her Trip tried spread the cream himself, contorting himself in a variety of ways to do so, but inevitably came to the conclusion he was going to go mad without help. "Okay, Mila," he finally conceded, with ill grace, "I give, I apologize, c'mere and help me out."

She gave him a long, considering look before agreeing. "Look at the mess you've made," she remarked, kneeling behind him. "Just feel free to use up the entire container, by the way."

"It's a little bit harder to control when you're doing it by yourself," he pointed out, trying to keep from yelling. "J---s, Mary, and Joseph," he sighed as she spread the gel out, providing instant relief from the overwhelming itch.

"Didn't get it anywhere else, did you?" she queried cheekily.

"No, thank you," Trip snapped, standing as she finished. He was more than ready to get some clothes on at this point.

 

Trip stood with his sleeping bag pulled up around his chin, debating. He could go back into his own tent. Or he could keep on walking to Mila's. Either way, standing outside between them wasn't going to do him a whole lot of good. He kept on walking.

"Hey, Mila!" he hissed, then wondered why he was whispering. He wasn't going to wake anyone up—except for the person he _wanted_ to wake up, that is.

"What?" she mumbled groggily, irritated. She propped herself up on her elbows and squinted at him. "What do you want?" She was immediately suspicious.

Being engulfed by his sleeping bag, Trip hopped on his knees further into the tent, feeling like a hyperactive inchworm. Mila made a disgusted noise as she was forced to scoot over to allow him room. "What do you _want_?" she demanded. It could clearly be nothing good, in her mind.

"Now look, I'm not tryin' anything—" he began, scrambling up next to her.

"What? What are you trying?" she shot back indignantly.

" _Nothin'_ ," Trip insisted. "I am just tryin' to help you out." He regarded her with narrowed eyes across the dark tent. He probably shouldn't have even bothered. "'Course maybe you don't _need_ my help, Miss Nature Scout."

Mila rolled her eyes. "What are these 'scouts' you keep talking about? Some kind of military thing?"

"No, it's not a _military_ thing," Trip corrected, appalled at her lack of knowledge. "It's—it's for _kids_ —"

"Trip, what are you doing in here?" she interrupted impatiently. "I was asleep, you know. I was trying to get a _little_ sleep so I could keep up with—Mr. Scout Ahead—"

Trip sniggered. "'Mr. Scout Ahead'? What is _that_?"

"I don't _know_ ," Mila answered intolerantly. "It's like—like Miss Natural Scouter—"

"'Miss Natural Scouter'?" Trip repeated, now laughing out loud. "Miss _Au Naturel_ Scout, maybe—"

"What was that?" Mila snapped. "I _do_ speak French, you know."

"Well, I'm just sayin', any girl who'd jump buck naked into a stream with a fellow officer can't be all _that_ uncomfortable with nature—"

Mila's noises of indignation only served to fuel Trip's late-night giddiness. "I did _not_ jump—'buck naked' into the stream! And I was only _washing out_ my—You're _impossible_!" she finally concluded in a huff as her righteous anger was lost on him. "Get out of my tent! Go on, get out!"

Mila started shoving him. Unfortunately Trip's higher body mass, not to mention the tightness with which they were wedged into the one-person tent, did little to expel him. "Now would you just simmer down?" he finally said, trying to stop laughing. Mila turned on her side, back to him. "Honestly, woman, you've got three brothers, didn't any of them ever rag on ya?"

"If by 'rag on' you mean tease, insult, mock, taunt—"

"Yeah, that's what I mean," Trip agreed helpfully.

"—then _no_ ," she assured him crisply. "My brothers knew their place and did what they were told!"

Trip gave a whistle of sympathy for the Archelus boys. He wanted to comment on the difficulty of growing a pair of b—ls when surrounded by seven sisters, but he thought that might be a little too mean. Instead he let the last few chuckles out and watched the outline of her shoulders in the gloom. They were quiet for a moment, then Trip remembered why he _had_ come to see her.

"It's pretty cold out there," he remarked casually.

"It's nighttime," she snapped. "In the mountains. The _least_ you could have done was read ahead about the area and taken some _precautions_ against the weather."

He rolled his eyes as his words were thrown back at him. "I am plenty warm in my tent," he informed her, if by plenty warm he meant his teeth had stopped chattering _quite_ so often. "I just thought _you_ might be kind of chilly."

"How gallant," Mila shot back with heavy sarcasm, squirming around to face him again. "I suppose you came all the way over here to offer to _share_ your sleeping bag with me. Body heat and all."

"Um, well, when you put it that way..." Trip trailed off, then remembered who he was talking to. "...it sounds kind of _sordid_ ," he added defensively. "Which, I'll have you know, was _not_ what I was thinking of at all."

"Oh really." Mila did not sound convinced.

"Absolutely," Trip assured her. "I mean, that is _completely_ the _last_ thing I've got on my mind right now." Which was not _entirely_ true...

"But it _is_ on your mind," Mila deduced mockingly.

Okay, time to leave now. Suddenly this wasn't fun anymore. "I'm gonna go back to my own tent," Trip decided shortly, trying to maneuver into a kneeling position. "You can just freeze your little butt off here by yourself."

"Well, at least I've got clean underwear," she reminded him with a smirk.

Trip decided not to dignify that remark with a reply. That was what he decided when he couldn't respond because he'd stumbled over something and fallen face-first back into the tent. Several moments of awkward disentangling followed between the two of them.

"Would you just—"

"Move your—"

"Could've been sleeping—"

"Won't bother bein' _nice_ in the future—"

"Is _that_ what you call—"

"Just tryin' to—"

"Ohhh!"

Trip froze at her sudden gasp, wondering if he'd knelt on something sensitive. "Mila?"

"Trip, your hands are ice cold!"

He looked down in the dim light, having barely felt her gripping them. "Um, well, it _is_ kinda cold out, which I said before—"

"You can't possibly sleep like that," she decided firmly. There was a movement in the dark and Trip realized she was unfastening his sleeping bag.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, though he was hardly in a position to argue.

Now she was unfastening her own and sealing the edges of the two back together. "We will have you nice and warm in just a few minutes," she declared pleasantly, in a slightly controlling tone that frightened him a little. It reminded him of his mother's when she discovered he was sick, right before she announced he had to drink foul-tasting medicine and stay inside on a sunny day.

"Really, I'm okay," he tried, unfortunately less than convincing. "I just came in here to bug you, that's all—"

"Nonsense," Mila assured him, snuggling down into her half of the bag. "You just lie still and try to relax."

Nervous though he suddenly was, Trip couldn't help enjoying the warmth that seemed to flow from her half of the bag. "Hey, you didn't—you didn't bring one of those bag heaters along with you, did you?" Jon had strictly specified as few technological assists as possible, but Trip wasn't about to argue with this one.

"Of course not," Mila told him, slightly indignant. "I am perfectly capable of warming up my own sleeping bag. It's made of a metal-based polymer, after all," she added.

"Oh my G-d," Trip exclaimed suddenly, trying to scramble free of the fabric. "You mean you're gonna toast us, like bread in a-a—"

"Toaster?" she supplied acidly. "Lie back down." It was not a suggestion. "You will be perfectly fine. I am using a very low-level current."

"Well, that makes me feel better," Trip muttered sarcastically. Still, his own bag _was_ beginning to warm up, a cozy little sack that made him feel relaxed and drowsy... Just before he was about to drift off, however, he noticed that he was beginning to sweat from the heat, pulling his bare skin away from direct contact with the bag. "Uh, Mila?" he prodded into the darkness. Okay, the bag was really becoming uncomfortably warm now, Trip decided, digging his arms free of it. How much heat could this thing conduct, anyway? He half-expected to see it glowing like a warp coil in the tent. "Mila!"

"What?" she snapped sleepily.

"Isn't gettin' a little _too_ warm in here?"

She sighed, most peeved. "Why are you always complaining? You say _I'm_ the one who complains, but you really must admit—"

"Mila, we're gettin' fried here!" Trip interrupted urgently, trying to scramble out of the sleeping bag that he was sure would burst into flames at any moment.

"We are _not_ 'gettin' fried,'" she retorted acidly. "I am merely warming the bags up so that when I fall asleep and can no longer power them, they will remain warm enough to see us through the night."

"Well you coulda explained that," Trip protested. "You about done warmin' it up?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Fine."

"Good night, then."

Mila snorted in response. Trip slipped back down into his bag, resigned to being overly warm for a while, although actually it kind of felt good on his aching muscles and the insect bites on his back. Before he could come up with anything else to worry about for the day—drowning, being eaten by catfish, set upon by insects, freezing to death, and getting fried by his own sleeping bag having already been taken—Trip closed his eyes and went to sleep.

 

"Cooking."

"No."

"Is it close?"

"I'm not answering that."

"Botany."

"No."

"Something to do with kids."

"You'll have to be more specific."

"Early childhood education."

"No."

"Architecture."

"No."

"Medicine."

"Too broad."

"Dentistry?"

"No."

"Give me a hint."

"No."

"Aw, come on."

"You're the one who wanted to guess."

"You can't be _mean_ about it, though."

"Whose rule is that?"

"It's not sporting."

"That's terribly concerning for me."

"But if I guess, I don't know, 'astronomy,' and you say 'no' but it turns out to actually be 'stellar cartography'—that would just be _mean_ , you see. Just 'cause I didn't say the _exact_ right phrase."

"Hmm. Interesting sense of morality you have."

Trip glared at Mila as they hiked through the trees. "If you don't _want_ me to know, just say so," he huffed.

"I don't mind if you know," Mila replied cheekily. "But you'll have to work for the answer." Trip rolled his eyes. "Well, start a new topic of conversation then, if you're bored with this one."

Trip was quiet for a moment as he tried to think it over logically. Well, his logic wasn't nearly as sound as T'Pol's, of course, but surely a chief engineer of the first warp five starship in deep space could come up with _something_ reasonable. "It's definitely not anything to do with engineering," he muttered.

"Well, you're correct there," Mila smirked.

Encouraged by this victory, Trip continued to eliminate possibilities. "Not weapons or anything to do with combat or defense... Not piloting or navigation, that's for d—n sure—"

"Look, I don't know why everyone gets so upset about that," Mila interrupted defensively. "I was in complete control the entire time. It was Ensign Mayweather who unbalanced the shuttlepod, when he started pushing buttons."

"D—n buttons," Trip enthused mockingly. Mila shot him a dark look, then lifted her head and proceeded along the trail. "You spend a lot of time with Hoshi," he continued after a moment. "Is it something to do with communications or languages?"

"Too very broad areas of study," Mila remarked, revealing nothing.

"Well it can't be anything to do with athletics," he decided, still thinking.

"Well, thank you," she spat, seemingly offended.

"Well, hey now," Trip protested, trying to catch up with her as she increased her pace.

"I am in _perfect_ health," Mila informed him coolly, "and Lt. Reed has been _extremely_ pleased with my progress in self-defense. I hardly think you can instantly rule out all forms of activity as being my specialty."

"I didn't mean you were—lazy or something," Trip insisted, stumbling over a rock Mila had skipped nimbly across. "You just don't seem like a real sports-oriented person, that's all."

"Not all athletic activities are sports," she reminded him leadingly.

Trip narrowed his eyes at her, wondering if she were giving him a clue or just toying with him. "Gymnastics?" he guessed wildly. "Ice skating?"

"Aren't those sports?" Mila asked, confused.

"Um, I don't know," he confessed. He tried to remember everything he'd watched in the last Olympic Games, then rule those out. "I know, I know," Trip told her excitedly. She glanced back at him. "Dance."

"Dance is a very wide-ranging art form."

"You cannot expect me to list every kind of dance in the galaxy, hopin' I hit the right one."

"Well at least _try_ to be more specific."

He had to be on the right track, he decided. "Um... ballet."

"No."

"Square dancing."

"I don't even know what that is."

"The waltz?"

"No."

Well, that was the entire list of dances of the galaxy that Trip knew. "Dancing... solo."

"No."

"With a partner, then."

"No."

"In a group?"

"No."

"Well, what other kind of dance _is_ there?!"

"Did I say it was dance?"

Trip let out a growl of frustration as Mila snickered at him. "Okay, now I remember, when your dad first came aboard _Enterprise_ , he brought one of your sisters with him," Trip began, thinking back, "and he said her specialty was just _music_. Music is a pretty broad topic." He looked at her as if to say, _Get out of that one_.

"My father was simplifying the matter for you," Mila clarified, and the very _lack_ of condescension in her tone made Trip feel it all the more keenly. "Musidora's specialty is a particular _kind_ of music, purely instrumental, involving a large number of musicians. I think on Earth you would call it 'orchestral.'"

Shaking his head, Trip decided to try a different tactic. "Was this specialty something you picked out yourself, or were you assigned to it?"

"A little of both," Mila decided after a moment. "Do you think we can cross here?"

Trip looked over the small stream in their path. "Yeah, it looks pretty shallow here."

"You go first."

Rolling his eyes Trip started across the ridge of smooth stones in the middle of the stream. Predictably his foot slid off one and plunged into the icy water, which poured over the edge of his boot before he could yank his foot out.

"Hmm, that one looks a bit slippery," Mila observed. When Trip stood safely on the other bank, hopping on one foot as he dumped muddy water out of his hiking boot, Mila made her own crossing, deftly avoiding the troublesome stone and arriving beside him completely dry.

"Nice," he complimented her sarcastically, pulling his boot back on. "Good strategy there."

"Thank you," she remarked facetiously. They continued along the path. "There were a number of subjects I was interested in, but I was encouraged to choose one that was less popular."

For a moment Trip looked at her in confusion, then he remembered their previous topic of conversation. "Oh. Any particular reason?"

Mila shrugged. "They try to keep a balance of specialties," she told him. "Don't want an overabundance of people studying obscure things and not enough becoming, I don't know, engineers. Or the opposite."

"So your specialty is something more obscure," Trip decided. Mila neither confirmed nor denied the speculation. The problem with obscure topics, of course, was that they were hard to think of. "Diplomacy," he guessed wildly. Mila gave him a look. "Well, I figured diplomacy would be pretty obscure on a Venkii ship," he teased her. "And aerospace design is probably rare, too!" he added, amusing himself more than anyone else.

"I think you're taking the word 'obscure' a little too literally," she chided coolly. "I simply meant that there are things which are very common for people to study on ships, and things which are less common. And my specialty is less common."

"Do you have to be on a ship to study it?" Trip probed.

"No," Mila answered succinctly, then added, "But there are precious few things one _must_ be on a ship to study. I am told, after all, that on Earth you have universities that teach all manner of subjects."

Trip sighed and continued to think. "Do you miss it?" he finally asked. Mila gave him a questioning look. "I mean, when you came to _Enterprise_ , you probably couldn't study it anymore. Do you miss it?"

"Who said I couldn't continue to study it?" Mila shot back with a smile.

Trip opened his mouth, thought a moment, then closed it. "Okay, it must be something you can do inside your cabin—"

"Which way do we go here?"

"Um—" Trip glanced at the forked trails leading away from their position. "Let's take this one," he suggested. "It looks more used." Mila shrugged and continued the hike. "So it must involve reading or watching or listening to stuff on the computer," he continued thoughtfully, "as opposed to moving around a lot or conducting experiments or something like that. Did you have to get Captain Archer's permission to continue studying it?" Trip asked suddenly. "Did you have to make any special changes to your cabin or anything?"

"No."

"Literature."

"Too broad."

"Um... detective novels."

"What are those?"

"Forget it. Uh... plays. The theatre. Shakespeare."

"No."

"Science fiction novels."

Snort. "No."

"Poetry?"

"Hmm."

For a moment Trip thought he had it. "It's poetry, right? You study some kind of poetry!"

"Do you hear that noise?" Mila asked, turning around.

"What noise? Don't try to distract me! It's poetry, isn't it?"

"Shut up for a minute," Mila instructed him. They were both silent.

"I don't hear anything," Trip finally whispered, wondering if this was just a little trick on her part to make him forget about the poetry.

"There," Mila hissed.

This time Trip heard it, a soft rustling in the bushes nearby. He turned and saw the branches twitching slightly, low to the ground. Rolling his eyes, he pointed out, "It's probably just a squirrel or a rabbit or something. Equivalent, I mean. This is _nature_ after all."

Mila didn't quite look convinced. "Let's keep moving," she decided, giving the twitching bush a dubious glance.

"So it's poetry, isn't it?" he insisted, as they continued to wind around the mountain through the trees.

"It's not poetry," Mila countered.

"Non-fiction."

"Too broad."

"Current events."

"No."

"Is it... how different groups record the same events, from different perspectives?"

"No, but that's a lovely guess."

"Does 'lovely' mean it's close?"

"Not at all. But one of my aunts studies that exact topic."

"What about visual arts?"

"What about them?"

Trip sighed. "Is that your specialty?"

"Too broad." This time Trip repeated the phrase with her.

"Okay, I know, too broad... visual art of a particular style or on a particular medium, of which I can give no examples because the only art class I ever did well in was drafting?"

"No. And I didn't know you could draw. You've been holding out on me."

"I can only draw engineering components. Diagrams. That kind of thing."

Mila stopped suddenly and Trip almost ran her over. "There's that noise again," she commented warily.

"Yesterday you flipped out over a catfish," he reminded her pointedly. "Today is it going to be a bunny rabbit?" She narrowed her eyes at him in annoyance. "How many times do I have to tell you, there's no dangerous creatures on this planet? But don't take _my_ word for it," Trip went on sarcastically as Mila glared at him. "Take _T'Pol's_. And I know you trust T'Pol."

"I have great respect for Commander T'Pol," Mila sniffed, continuing her walk with head held high. "Although," she faltered, "I must admit she didn't say anything about the insects."

"Okay, right, one small oversight," Trip agreed, grabbing a tree to help pull himself up a particularly steep stretch. "But maybe they're not really a problem unless you, you know, lay down on them or something."

"Hmm," Mila remarked noncommittally.

"And it's not like their bites were full of toxins and we're dyin' here or anything," Trip added cheerfully. "A little of Phlox's smelly ointment and I forget they're even there." Of course now that he was thinking of the bites, they started to itch.

"I like Doctor Phlox," Mila decided suddenly. "He seems very nice. And quite smart."

"Yeah, he's a good one," Trip agreed. "Pulled us out of a lot of jams. Did you know, he's got like seventeen degrees? Psychology, dentistry, veterinary medicine, all kinds of stuff besides just... um, regular doctor degrees."

"What's a degree?"

Trip glanced at her for a moment and saw that she was genuinely curious. "It's what you get from one of those university on Earth," he told her, smiling a little. "You have study for years, and take all kinds of classes and pass all kinds of tests just to get _one_. And that means you know a lot about whatever subject you've got the degree in."

"Hmm. Have you got any degrees?"

"Um, yeah," Trip replied, feeling a little awkward all of a sudden. "Warp field physics. And aerospace engineering."

"Well, you've got _two_ degrees," Mila pointed out, sounding impressed. "That seems quite clever."

Technically it was three, as he had both a bachelors and a masters in the aerospace engineering, but Trip didn't feel much like bragging on that. "Yeah, well... Don't the Venkii certify people in some way, when they've completed their basic education or something?"

"Well, we have a ceremony," Mila explained, stepping over a branch in the path. Trip managed to snag his pants on it as he passed. "It's kind of like getting a degree, I guess, same sort of requirements. Only there's no big university, just the private instruction. Everyone who's finished their studies at about the same time has to walk across a stage when their name is called, and the head of the education program gives them a rolled-up piece of paper tied with a ribbon."

Trip was staring at her. "That's just what we do!" he finally exclaimed, when he was certain she wasn't teasing him.

"Really?"

"Yeah, the piece of paper is called a diploma, and it certifies that the person has earned whatever degree."

"Oh." Mila suddenly looked unimpressed. "For us the piece of paper is just for show. We throw it out. It's the ribbon that's important."

"What?"

"The piece of paper is just there to tie the ribbon around, to make it look pretty and artistic," she told him. "People keep the ribbon, put it up on their wall, that kind of thing. You say, 'So what are you getting your ribbon in?' and so forth. They have different colors and designs, for the different specialties."

Trip thought that over for a little while. "So what color is _your_ ribbon?" he finally asked teasingly.

"Purple, with a red stripe down the middle," Mila revealed, secure in the knowledge it wouldn't help him at all. "But it's not a very high degree," she admitted. "It's sort of—basic education in my specialty, if that makes sense. I was going to specialize further when my father said they needed someone to go to _Enterprise_."

"So you volunteered?" Trip asked, slightly skeptical.

"Not exactly," she told him with a rueful smirk. "I was a... good candidate for the job. One of just a few. Based on circumstance, I mean."

Trip frowned at her in confusion. "What circumstance?"

"I mean, I wasn't already bonded to the ship," Mila explained. "And I wasn't married and didn't have any children or anything like that."

"Hmm." Trip didn't have anything to say to that.

They walked in silence for a while, a pleasant companionable silence. At least until Mila said, "I hear it again. I think it's louder this time."

Trip rolled his eyes. "Mila, would you just _stop_ —" Then _he_ heard it too, and this time it was no twitching of a few branches. It sounded more like... a crash. Something _crashing_ through the undergrowth. Something _large_.

"Start runnin'," Trip decided, pointing towards an outcropping of rock a few meters above them, and Mila didn't hesitate. They pounded up the dirt trail, occasionally slipping and grabbing on to each other and dragging the other one back up, and the crashing grew louder behind them but Trip for one didn't want to look back.

"What is that?!" Mila gasped, having given in to the urge Trip had avoided.

"I don't know," he snapped, trying to conserve breath. "Keep running!"

They scrambled up the rock outcropping, relatively safe, Trip decided, and he finally worked up the nerve to look backwards. "Holy s—t!" he exclaimed, heart jumping in his throat even more than it had been running. "It's a bear!" Or the nearest local equivalent. At least three feet tall on all fours, massive head and jaws, dark shaggy fur, hungry just-woke-up-from-hibernating look in its eyes... Trip figured he and Mila must look like hot dogs on sticks to it—tasty, fresh, and ready to gobble down.

"A bear?!" Mila repeated, pushing herself higher on the rock. "Can it climb up here?"

"Um, well..." Trip watched the beast to see what it could, in fact, do. He really hoped these alien bears couldn't fly, at least. The creature stood up on its hind legs, bringing it at least five feet closer, and Trip and Mila clamored to the very pinnacle of the rock.

"Let's beam back to _Enterprise_ ," Mila suggested, a not-uncalled-for whine in the back of her throat.

Normally Trip would have agreed. Getting chased by a bear was not high on his list of camping activities. But he thought back to the scoffing tone Jon had used when casting Trip off, condemning him to spend his shore leave with Mila instead of Jon and Travis, predicting the two of them would fight so much they'd be back on _Enterprise_ going their separate ways in no time. His eyes narrowed dangerously—not dangerous to the bear, of course, but possibly to himself. Sure, they could _say_ they'd been driven home by a bear, but would Jon really believe them? Trip thought not.

"I don't think it can climb up here," Trip said, far more confidently than his knowledge warranted. "Let's just stay here for a little bit and wait it out."

"Wait it out?! Are you mad?!" As if to second her objection—or perhaps to suggest that the two tasty treats indeed stay—the bear roared. Mila wrapped her arm around Trip's and buried her face in his shoulder. Hmm. So not _all_ bad then, he decided.

"Look," Trip began in a knowledgeable tone of voice, "if the bear's hungry, it's not going to wait around all day for _us_." Mila glanced up at him dubiously, internally questioning his expertise in this area. "There's a whole forest full of food out there, he'll get tired and wander off pretty soon. All we have to do is wait a few minutes."

They sat. And waited. Actually they couldn't _really_ sit, given the shape of the outcropping and the proximity of the Most Patient Bear Ever Known, but they could kind of _lean_ against the rocks.

"So."

"Yeah."

"Huh."

"Yup."

"You know," Trip began conversationally, "T'Pol was _totally_ off about the wildlife around here."

"Oh really?" Mila remarked dryly. "Perhaps it's a vegetarian bear who just wants to play. And by the way," she added pointedly, "I think you owe me an apology."

"What for?" Trip sputtered.

"As I recall," she informed him haughtily, "you _chided_ me, _mocked_ me really, when I heard the bear rustling in the bushes." Trip opened his mouth to protest but was cut off. "I believe you said something about it being a 'bunny rabbit'?"

"We have _no_ evidence that the first couple of rustles _weren't_ something small and harmless," Trip insisted, although he knew that was a lame argument.

Mila did not dignify it with a response, only a shaming look. They sat quietly for a few more minutes. So did the bear. "Maybe he'll get a crick in his neck from looking up at us for so long," Trip suggested hopefully.

"Yes, that would be a shame," Mila agreed. "He'll have to visit the masseuse after he's eaten us."

"Well if you have any suggestions for getting out of here, now would be a good time!"

"You mean, _besides_ transporting back up to the ship?"

Trip glared at her. "Yes, _besides_ that."

"You don't think a bear attack is sufficient reason?" Mila needled.

"We haven't been _attacked_ ," Trip pointed out. "We're both perfectly fine."

The bear opened its enormous mouth and yawned, or perhaps he was giving Mila and Trip a glance at their future home. "So if the bear rips a limb off, _then_ we can transport back to _Enterprise_?" Mila asked. "Just to clarify."

"That would absolutely be a good time to transport back to the ship," Trip agreed. "But we haven't reached that point yet."

"Oh, well good."

Another few minutes. "I think I could use the _Enterprise_ transporters to move us from here to... somewhere else," Mila suggested. "Like the coordinates where we're supposed to meet the Captain."

Trip narrowed his eyes at her. "Have you ever done anything like that before?"

"No," Mila admitted. "But I think it would work."

"Well, I'm not volunteerin' to make the first attempt," Trip told her resolutely.

Mila thought a little longer. "What we need," she finally decided, "is a flying vehicle of some kind."

"What?"

"A thing that flies, that we can ride on," she explained, becoming more enthusiastic. "Then we could escape the bear, and just keep flying to the meeting site. It's not that far away, right?"

"Um, just over those trees, I think," Trip replied, turning to stare off into the distance. His foot slipped and he grabbed frantically for the rock face as Mila grabbed for him. A small shower of pebbles skittered down onto the bear, who jumped up and began pacing in front of the outcropping, hoping the next thing to slip down would be tastier.

"Yeah."

"So."

"That was close."

"Not _that_ close."

Trip glared at Mila. "You'd be squealing and grabbin' my arm if _your_ foot slipped," he accused sourly.

"You _did_ squeal."

"I did not!"

"It was a sort of girly squeal."

"Was not!"

"Shall we ask the bear?"

"You first."

"But back to more important matters," Mila decided briskly, as if she were forced to be the more mature one of the pair. "A flying thing. Like, an anti-grav unit or something. How long do you think it would take you to build one of those?"

Trip stared at her. "How long would it take me to build an anti-grav unit," he repeated incredulously, "large enough to carry both of us at least... four meters off the ground, using _just_ what I've got in my backpack?" Mila nodded. Trip shrugged. "Two, three hours."

"Well, get started, then."

 

"I thought the Captain said we couldn't bring anything that wasn't _necessary_ along," Mila remarked, glancing over at the tool Trip was using on the metal board on his lap.

"Aw, these things are _basic_ ," he protested, indicating the hypo-spanner, phase modulator, soldering torch, and tube of plastisteel spread across pockets and laps between the two of them. "I mean, packin' them's like packin' an extra pair of socks or something. You don't even think about it."

"You packed an extra pair of socks?" Mila looked a bit nonplussed. "I thought we weren't allowed to bring much extra clothing."

"It's just an expression," Trip sighed. "Anyway, I wouldn't complain if I were you, I wouldn't be able to make this without them."

"I'm not complaining," Mila assured him. "It's just that the rules of behavior are considerably more malleable than they would at first appear."

Trip gave her a look that said he had no idea what the h—l she was talking about, but he was certain it wasn't very important. Mila in return gave him a look that suggested she found him woefully ignorant, which upon consideration really wasn't that surprising. The bear gave them both a look that communicated his certainty that they were not only great-tasting but also nutritious, and that he was willing to go the extra mile, or the extra hour, for such a treat.

 

"Remember you don't have to worry about the power supply," Mila reminded him.

"Which is good, because I haven't got anything here to power it with," Trip agreed.

"Just make it sturdy, so it won't fall apart when I run the power through it."

"It'll be sturdy," he promised. Then he smirked at her. "Unless you've been sneakin' extra ration packs at night."

Mila snorted. "Unlikely. I'm thoroughly sick of those things." She sighed. "When I get back to the ship I'm going to have a nice, hot meal."

"Not a nice, hot shower?"

"Well, I'll have both, eventually," she clarified.

"At the same time?" Trip teased. "Better make it soup then."

"So clever," Mila told him sarcastically. He just grinned.

"So... How old are you when you pick a specialty?"

Mila rolled her eyes as Trip hopped back on this topic again. He simply couldn't let any kind of mystery go by, apparently. "It varies," she replied with a shrug. "I guess around twelve is the average."

Trip started at her. "Twelve? Twelve years old?" Mila nodded. "You gotta decide what you want to do for the rest of your life at _twelve_?"

"Well, you decide what you want to _study_ ," she corrected. "But with most fields there are multiple ways in which to _apply_ your knowledge, and you can be quite general for a number of years."

Trip was still shaking his head in disbelief as he worked on the anti-grav unit. "But even so... If I'd been locked into a career when I was twelve years old, I'd be a minister right now, not an engineer." There was an odd pause and Trip looked up to see Mila staring at him. "A religious leader," he explained.

"Oh." She cleared her throat and reached for her canteen to take a sip of water. "What made you change your mind?"

He smirked as he continued connecting wires inside the housing. "I got a little older, and I discovered _girls_."

"Ohhhhhh," she replied knowingly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Religious matters kinda took a backseat. Still an interesting subject, but definitely not what I'd want to be doing full-time."

"Generally the boys have longer to decide than the girls," Mila sniffed after a moment. "Being slower to mature and all."

"Of course."

"Musidora, whom you've met"—Trip nodded—"she decided she wanted to study music when she wasn't quite eleven." He whistled, impressed. "I didn't decide until I was fifteen," she added, slightly embarrassed. "So I was already quite behind my peers."

"Hey, you waited until you were sure it was what you wanted," he pointed out helpfully.

"That's true," Mila agreed, then added dryly, "and as a reward I don't actually get to practice it."

"Yeah, that's kinda funny," Trip told her baldly. Mila gave him a look.

"I just heard from Musidora recently, actually," she continued after a minute.

"Yeah? How is the little squirt?"

"She's getting married."

Trip almost dropped the anti-grav unit down the rock. The bear appeared _very_ interested. "Wait, Musidora, the music kid, the one who first came on _Enterprise_? Who corrected everything people said and told me engineering was a 'hobby'?"

Mila smiled fondly. "That's her."

"She can't be getting married," Trip asserted. "She's just a little kid. Why, she can't be more than—"

"Seventeen," Mila supplied. "That's about when the Venkii women start getting married."

"Seventeen?" Trip repeated in amazement. He shook his head. "No wonder your parents had so many kids."

"Well, there's not really that many Venkii, when you think about it," she pointed out. "Five clans, about six thousand people per clan. That's all. The Liberators tasked us with increasing our numbers as we continued our mission for them."

"'Be fruitful, and multiply,'" Trip smirked.

Mila stared at him. "Where did you learn that phrase?" she demanded curiously.

"It's from the Bible," he shrugged. "Holy book for one of Earth's major religions. Not even one of the more obscure phrases."

"It's in our holy book, too," Mila informed him. "I guess that's not _terribly_ surprising, as they're probably based on the same source."

"So, Musidora's your _younger_ sister," Trip remarked after a moment.

"That's correct."

"And she's seventeen."

"My, you _have_ been paying attention."

"So that would make _you_..."

"Older than seventeen."

"Right," Trip smirked.

Mila sighed. "Go ahead, ask it."

"Why aren't _you_ married yet?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I guess I'm just... still behind. Or, still waiting until I'm sure of what I want," Mila added, a bit more thoughtfully.

"That's the spirit."

 

Note: They eventually escape from the bear.

 

"I think it's done."

"How long has it been cooking?"

"I don't know. Twenty minutes?"

"Is that long enough?"

"I have no idea. But I'm starving!"

"So you're suggesting we eat this strange creature from an alien world without knowing whether it's safe to consume, just because you're hungry."

"Well... yeah."

Mila rolled her eyes.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Trip demanded. "Build a meat thermometer? And a cookbook?"

"You eat it first," Mila suggested, gazing dubiously at the meat in the frying pan.

"Gladly," Trip enthused, scooping a large chunk of flaky fish onto his plate. The smell of the juicy catfish-like animal frying over the fire had been tormenting him for what felt like an eternity now. No way was he going to let Mila's... _paranoia_ dampen his spirits for the meal.

Trip place a bite in his mouth and closed his eyes, letting the flavor melt over his tongue. "Mmmmmm," he declared. "Mmmmm. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm."

"So, good then?" Mila asked dryly.

"Mmmmmmm," Trip replied.

"Perhaps you and the fish would like to be alone."

Trip opened his eyes and glared at her. "More for me," he shrugged.

Mila shook her head, smirked, and dished up some meat herself. She wrinkled her nose as she took a bite and Trip braced himself. "It tastes strange," she decided.

"That's the best you can come with?" he prodded. "'Strange'?"

"Kind of... pungent," she clarified. Slightly.

"Well give it to me if you don't want it."

Mila pulled her plate closer to her body protectively. "Forget it. I'll take this over a ration pack any day."

They continued eating. Mila had just begun to question Trip's proficiency at removing the bones from the fish, with Trip remarking that she was welcome to try it herself the next time, when they heard a noise and glanced up to see two figures approaching down the trail.

Trip's grin nearly split his face. "Hey, it's the Captain and Travis!" he announced, jumping to his feet. "Hello!" he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. He waved his arms in ridiculously huge motions.

"Would you stop making so much noise?" Mila said with annoyance.

Trip sat back down and picked his food up again. "Oh, come on, you should be happy to see them. Means we'll be goin' home soon."

"Well I certainly won't object to returning to the ship and a civilized lifestyle," she agreed. "It's just..." she began slowly.

"Yeah?" Trip prompted, watching her curiously.

"Well, I was..." He made an encouraging expression. Mila narrowed her eyes at him. "Just one of you was barely tolerable. I'm not sure I want to go back to _three_."

Trip opened his mouth to shoot back a reply when suddenly the Captain and Travis were upon them. And Trip's mouth just stayed open as he surveyed the pair.

"Is that food?" Jon demanded eagerly. "Can we have some?"

Immediately Trip gave up his plate to Jon, who dropped awkwardly onto a stump near the fire and began shoveling the fish into his mouth. It took Mila a moment to be convinced to hand her meal over to Travis, but when she finally did so, he exhibited the same ravenous behavior. Trip pulled the extra plate out of his bag and put more fish on it for him and Mila to share, all the while giving the newcomers concerned looks.

"Sorry, sorry," Jon mumbled a few moments later, still eating. "It's just, we're _starving_."

"Haven't eaten in nearly two days," Travis agreed.

"What?" Trip exclaimed. "Why?"

"This 'vacation' has been a _nightmare_ ," Jon continued, oblivious to much else besides the food.

"Really? What happened?" Trip probed. Mila scooted closer to him, the better to share their single plate _and_ get away from the overly fragrant, rather dirty Travis.

Jon took another piece of fish from the frying pan. Fortunately there was plenty. "After a couple days on the trail, we decided to take a dip in the river," he began, shaking his head.

"Current came up, nearly drowned us," Travis revealed.

"So we looked for a quieter stream," Jon went on, irony weighing heavily on his tone. "Where Travis was _attacked_ by these huge fish!"

Trip risked a glance at Mila, who was risking a glance at him. "Uh, what kind of fish?"

"Well, they just looked like catfish to me," Travis told them. "But they had these huge sharp teeth! I mean, look at this!" He gestured to the bandage wrapped around his ankle, not to mention the smaller coverings applied to other parts of his lower legs.

"Wow," Trip commented. "Yeah, I noticed you limpin' when you came up."

"Say, that's not what we're _eating_ , is it?" Jon suddenly demanded suspiciously, giving Trip a hard look.

"No, no way," Trip assured him. "This is just, uh, the fish ration packs. Spruced 'em up a little is all." He hoped Jon was too hungry to notice there was no way the fish wasn't freshly caught.

Indeed, his friend nodded, appeased, and continued, "Then, I don't know _what_ happened, we must have pitched our tents on top of some kind of anthills or something—"

"Middle of the night," Travis vented, "it's like my whole body is on fire. These _ants_ , filling the sleeping bags, biting everywhere—"

"Have you got any of that ointment Phlox sent down?" Jon interrupted, and Trip immediately fetched it for him. "Thanks. We used up all of ours." The two put aside their food only long enough to slather the cooling cream on a few particularly painful areas, which seemed to include their legs, arms, and faces. Trip had recognized the characteristic swollen blotches on them when they'd first arrived, but he decided not to mention that.

"Of course the _next_ night," Jon went on, "there was some kind of cold snap, and we about froze to death in our tents."

"Yeah, those nights can be a real bear," Trip agreed, thinking before he spoke.

"Don't mention bears!" Jon snapped forcefully, and Trip's eyes widened. Mila scooted yet closer to him.

"Two nights ago," Travis explained, "we're asleep in the tents, finally, and we hear this horrible noise outside."

"I look out," Jon added, "and there's a _bear_ , I mean, a real-looking eight-foot-long huge furry carnivorous creature _thing_ —"

"Claws, teeth, the whole bit," Travis put in.

"—digging through our bags, eating our ration packs!" Jon sounded almost more indignant by this point than anything else.

"A-a bear, huh?" Trip offered lamely.

"Tried to chase it off," Travis assured them, "but it sure wasn't scared of _us_."

"What it didn't eat, it ripped open and threw all over the ground," Jon continued. "So, no more ration packs for _us_."

"Um, why didn't you call _Enterprise_?" Trip asked carefully.

"Oh, I called _Enterprise_ ," Jon replied dangerously. "I called _Enterprise_ and reamed T'Pol for telling us there were 'no dangerous animals' in this place!"

"Did-did ya?" Trip remarked tentatively. "What'd she say?"

"Unexpected spring thaw," Jon spat, as though he didn't quite believe it. "Animals waking up before they were supposed to or something."

"Really?" This at least was something Trip and Mila had wondered about. "But you didn't ask for more ration packs or anything?"

He had not modulated his tone enough and Jon fixed him with a hard glare. "We were only a day away from here," Jon told him harshly. "Figured we could at least make it to the meeting site before asking to be bailed out. But then"—and the very _lack_ of accusation in his tone made it clear exactly how ticked off he was—"we had a little navigational problem." Travis refused to meet anyone's gaze.

"You got _lost_?" This was what Mila chose to make her first comment. And her tone was definitely not modulated at all.

Trip would have snickered if he'd dared, but he was afraid he would lose a body part if he did so. The helmsman and the captain who prided himself on his navigational skills had gotten _lost_? Someday, and from the looks of Jon that day might well be in the very distant future, Trip was going to enjoy bringing this story up. But not today.

Jon's glare attempted to bore a hole through Mila's forehead, but as Trip well knew, she was impervious to such displays. Finally he sighed and asked, "I guess you guys must have been pretty miserable, too," in a slightly mean tone.

"Oh, yeah," Trip assured him quickly. "We had, uh, fish and uh..."

"Ants," Mila supplied.

"Yeah, ants and even a bear, too," Trip agreed, trying to sound sympathetic.

"There's no need to be condescending," Jon snapped. "I guess I should just be glad you two didn't kill _each other_ , shouldn't I?"

Trip and Mila nodded quickly and turned back to their dinner.


End file.
